Suncatcher

Kim was a suncatcher. She literally was so full of light and the air around her twirled and radiated rainbow lights. She would have been 46 on February 8 this year, 2020. So when I was invited to a birthday party for our dear friend, Sunny, on February 8 in LA, I decided it was time, time to go to Kim’s house to bring back the things from our twenty five years together—from our Royal Palace days, our Honey and Vermilion days, our Grateful Dead days… basically our magical years together.

I didn’t want to go to her house, the house where she ended her life in this realm. I thought this just might be the thing that lands me in the loony bin. I’ve been expecting to find myself there at any point now after all the heartbreak and pain of the past two years. But it also didn’t seem right to let all the priceless things we shared end up in the trash.

On one hand, I want nothing—she’s not coming back and I don’t need material possessions to remember her—she is carved deep in my heart.

On the other hand, I want everything. I hate the thought of her beautiful clothing, favorite scarves and hats, the costumes we wore together…. to go to strangers who would not know what they were holding in their hands, or worse, end up in some garbage can.

These days, I make conscious choices to only do things that feed my soul. So I closed my eyes and put my hand over my heart and asked myself, does this feed my soul?

My soul said No! Don’t do it! It will hurt too much.

I talked to my friend, Jacquie, a premiere member of my Martini Club and a voice of wisdom. Jacquie said “Go to Kim’s. You’ve been talking about it for a long time.”

Okay Pain! I’m coming for you, walking right into the lion’s mouth.

Quite frankly I was terrified to go to her house, to see her things. I am living in denial that she is gone, and I didn’t want it to be shattered.

But I am strong and I am brave, so I went.

On the drive there, I felt nauseous and scared. What will it feel like? Who’s idea was this? AM I crazy? I feel sick! I’m going to vomit! I’m too old for these shenanigans… blah blah blah. (My mind can be quite rude when it wants.) But I went. I got out of the Uber with my little pink suitcase and white fluffy shoulder bag. I was wearing my sparkling cowboy boots for sparkle protection, along with my blue cat dress and a mint green tutu. I thought, “Do I really want to ruin my favorite boots and my favorite cat dress by now associating them with unbearable pain? But it was too late.”

I marched up her driveway and was assailed by…. Sorrow? Trauma? Pain?

Nope.

In an unexpected twist, I was assailed by Calm.

Peace. Warmth. Love.

What is happening?

Kim loved her front yard. She loved the succulents and sagebrush and the twisting tree and her suncatchers. She loved living near the hills, and was thrilled one morning when her security cameras got footage of a small bear that wandered through her yard while she was sleeping. Like a fairy tale.

It was a brilliant sunny day like only LA can deliver as I clomped up the driveway in my boots. The sky was blue, and her warm loving energy was all-encompassing, even with her rescue dog, Becket, hurling himself against the front glass window, barking like a maniac.

Calm. Warmth. Love.

Her husband came to the door with a weary quiet smile, and we embraced, no words needed, because really, there are no words.

I entered her house. There were no photos of her anywhere anymore, but her favorite pictures hung on the wall—the green Buddha she bought as her first piece of art: the circus Buster Keaton guy coming out from behind a door; a sparkling mermaid with the words “Swimming naked is my hobby”. On her bathroom windowsill, the cupcake bath bombs I had given her two years ago were still lying there topsy turvy, exactly as they were the last time I had been there.

Also, a small glass bottle of mermaid tears I had given her for her 43^th birthday.

It was shocking to feel the absolute opposite of what I expected. I didn’t feel scared, or sick, or griefstricken.

You know what I felt?

Joy!

How weird is that? I walked into her house and felt joyful.

I sat on her brown scratchy couch, the one she had been so thrilled to buy with her husband, their first piece of furniture for their new home. Her husband sat across from me, the dog between us, and I guess there were words for some things because we talked and talked and talked and talked. We talked about how we really like our solitude these days because most people don’t want the heaviness of a grieving person around them. We spoke about how it hurts more when people say things like “She is with you.” Or “she’s still here”. His eyes flashed when he said, “No she’s not here! I can’t hear her voice! I can’t feel her touch or hear her laugh or see her face.” I nodded. I know. We spoke about things I thought would take me down—what exactly happened that day, how they had talked and she seemed excited about their joint business together.

I told him about our phone conversation we had that day. How I told her to hang on through this darkness, that it would soon lift and the light would return. Exactly what I have been telling myself every minute of every day the past two years.

Okay men in white coats-if you are coming, now’s the time.

Except I felt okay. Maybe out of my body, but okay.

I don’t know why. It was somehow comforting to speak with him. It wasn’t healing, that’s not the right word, but it was comforting somehow. Before the visit, I thought, how could he stay in that house of pain?  

But now I know it’s the opposite —it’s not a house of pain but a house of love. Her energy is everywhere. It’s all he has left of her.  I wouldn’t move either.

I went into a room full of our things, the room they called “the nursery” for their future baby. I opened bin after bin of costume pieces and laughed in delight at the flood of memories, making a pile of glittering fabrics and moon-shaped rings, mermaids and fairies and fringe. I saw what looked like a scrap of fabric, and when I lifted it out, it was the black velvet choker with a rhinestone V in the middle. I had a matching one with an H on it. We wore them with our burlesque costumes, Honey and Vermilion.

My dear old friend Gabi came to get me. She was worried I’d be falling apart, and she didn’t want me to be there alone. She was surprised to see me holding myself together so well, and she wrapped her arms around me in a big hug. Sensing the energy in the house, she lovingly and respectfully waited for me on the porch, hauling my treasures out to her car as I brought them out to her.

I went for a glass of water, and the hummingbirds were flitting about outside her kitchen window and her suncatchers hung right outside, turning and spinning, sparkling and glittering.

The orange trees in her backyard were heavy with oranges, like trees in a fairy tale. I’m always amazed by the miracle of trees growing jewel-colored sweet fruit that you can pick and eat! So simple of course, but to me, miraculous.

We tromped outside to the shed where there were stacked bins of her clothing. I went through more boxes of stuff, which was—weird, but also unbelievably JOYFUL! WHAT? What is happening?

I pulled out piece after piece and laughed, remembering so many magical moments.

OMG here’s the wooden box I made her for her during my woodburning phase. I had burned the words “magic” and “love” into some crappy wooden box I got at a thrift shop, burnt the edges of photographs of the two of us and glued them inside—us at Renaissance faire, Hallloween in Paris, dancing in the snow in Ireland. Inside the box was glitter and the sculpy clay heart we baked together at our Royal Palace.

I said to her husband, “Have you seen a red velvet wizard’s hat?” He shook his head. “How about a red and purple velvet wizards bag with patchwork stars and hearts on it?” He shook his head. I had the bag made for Kim for on of her birthdays, based on her favorite book, Ship of Dreams. She carried it on many magical adventures, filled it with glitter and her suncatcher wand…

Guess what? I found the bag!

I went through boxes and bins of sparkling saris, belly dance costumes, a tiny bag of pasties from her burlesque days, the orange cotton Mexican skirt she wore at my wedding, everything was tattered and old, so much older than I remembered.  She has the only footage I know of us performing Big Spender—one of our most popular burlesque choreographies. The bins were filled with many things I had given her, and I had the matching one at my house in Boston—from edible golden honey powder with a leopard print powder puff to a delightful little hat with a bird perched on top. I spotted the red velvet bag in a bin and screamed in delight, hugging it to my heart. 

Her husband and I stood out there, under the orange trees in knee high weeds—thank goodness I wore my boots—and I opened a bin and shook my head and said, “Girl!” He said, I do that ten times a day.

I nodded. I know. Me too. He smiled as I told him stories about the bizarre things I was pulling out of the bins. He said, “I’d like to imagine if the shoe was on the other foot, she would be I Boston going through your things, telling stories, and laughing.” I said “I hope that ‘s exactly what she would do.”

The Gift of the Masai Warrior

One of the most amazing finds: In one of her jewelry boxes, I pulled out a colorful beaded little flat thing, two inches by two inches.

It had tattered strings hanging off the ends and looked like trash, but as I glanced at it, my mind assembled it for me. I picked it up. “Oh my god! Do you know what this is?” He shook his head. “I brought this back from Africa for her. I got it from a Masai warrior. After her first suicide attempt in 1999, I dropped out of school to help her get back on her feet. Once she was stable, I jumped on a last minute belly dance safari to Africa. I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and wept as herds of elephants thundered below me. On our way back to our lodge at dusk, we got caught in a Wildebeest stampede and I stood up with my head out of the safari truck and marveled at the thrill of being caught up in the middle of a wild ride under the magnificent emerging stars.

One afternoon in Amboseli, I was walking across a little bridge over a rushing river when I met a Masai Warrior with his long neck and shaved head and big beautiful smile. He was wearing the colorful beaded square on his wrist and when I gushed about its beauty, he took it off his wrist and gave it to me. I put it on my wrist for the rest of my trip and hoped it was absorbing all the massive eternal energy of Africa. I wore the warrior wristband until I got home and put it on Kim’s wrist for her protection.

I wrote letters to Kim every night by the fire, telling her all the incredible animals I was seeing and the stars, my god the stars in Africa—the sky is so huge. There is something about Africa that heals, something about the vast skies and storybook animals and the starlight. Under that huge sky, you feel small, but also big, part of a wondrous world where anything and everything is possible, and there are moments so beautiful, so magical, so overwhelming, it makes the sad parts worth it.

I wrote to her, My love for you is boundless, timeless and eternal. Nothing will ever change that. I came across that journal and read her those words the day before her last and final suicide attempt last year. She said, “Thanks boo.” in a small voice as the hot tears spilled down my cheeks.

I turned to her husband, “I’m proud of us. We made it through today.” He cracked a small smile, his eyes down, and we hugged.

I sparkle-clomped out into the sunshine, the birds chirping, the hummingbirds flitting about with their jeweled bodies, surprised at how I felt wrapped in love. How was this possible when I can’t bear to be on the planet without her? Kim’s wind chimes tinkled as I climbed into Gabi’s car. Gabi hugged me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I am.”

I put on my sunglasses and took a last look at the fairy suncatchers hanging from her trees, happy to be in a car stuffed with memories of my beloved, happy that I would now be keeping them with me. The suncatchers spun, just like they did when they hung at the Royal Palace so many years ago, catching light and shooting off rainbows.

I love you Kim. Boundless, timeless, eternal, forever yours…